


Captive Caught

by Chaotic_Smutty (Anna_Hopkins)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Bottom Harry Potter, Caught, Dubious Consent, M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Relationship, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Smut, implied - Freeform, just look at my username lol, you know how this is going to go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23984296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Hopkins/pseuds/Chaotic_Smutty
Summary: Prompt:Captured by the Snatchers, Harry and co are separated in Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix leaves Harry in the Dark Lord's quarters for Voldemort to find when He gets back. Besides being forbidden from leaving, Harry is allowed to do anything in the suite of rooms -- so, thinking it'd be a funny defiance, he lays down in Voldemort's bed and plays with himself. (Bonus if Harry is wanking to the Dark Lord's smell on the sheets.)This is how Voldemort finds him.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 24
Kudos: 635
Collections: Harry Potter, Tomarrymort Live Writes





	Captive Caught

**Author's Note:**

> A short PWP for you all. I'd forgotten it was finished. ♥

Harry stared at the closed, locked door in front of him, bewildered.

Bellatrix had seriously just left him in here. Alone. In Voldemort's quarters.

_ "Just wait till the Dark Lord arrives and finds my gift for Him," she giggled, tugging Harry along down the corridor to a pair of imposing double doors. "And when he's finished with you, Potter, he'll be so very pleased with me..." _

Then she'd slammed the door in his face, casting a dozen locking spells that meant he couldn't escape through any doors or windows out of the suite of rooms that Voldemort occupied.

Now, Harry sagged against the wall with a sigh. He knew his friends were somewhere downstairs, probably being brought to the dungeons like Bellatrix had said they would be. He hoped they would find a way to escape, because he really doubted he'd get to join them.

He set his satchel down by the door, shucking off his muddy shoes and hanging his jacket on a hook by the door, next to a long black robe. Pettily, Harry hoped that the dirt on his jacket would transfer onto the robe. It was probably the most impact he could expect to have after his death.

Although...

Turning, Harry approached the bedroom on socked feet, eyeing the large bed in the middle of the room. There were curtains around it like Hogwarts beds had, even. A small smirk crossed his face: he had something of an idea for his last revenge.

After all, if he was going to die anyway, why not?

Layer by layer, he removed his clothes, until he stood naked before the vast expanse of black sheets. They were smooth and cool against his palms when he went to feel them; the next layer below that was warmer, like flannel.  _ So Voldemort sleeps warm,  _ Harry observed as he climbed onto the bed properly.

Even as he believed there to be no point in feeling shame for what he was about to do, Harry worried his lower lip between his teeth in a nervous gesture. He still wanted  _ some  _ degree of privacy.

A minute later he had closed the curtains and was fumbling in the drawer of the bedside table for some kind of lube. Voldemort was snakey, sure, but he was still  _ male; _ surely he had to have  _ something, _ assuming he didn't just conjure it --

There! Almond oil. Harry closed the drawer, leaping back onto the bed and pulling the curtains shut. He maneuvered himself onto the middle of the bed, allowing himself to sink into this anticipatory excitement as much as he was sinking into the mattress. (It was a really comfortable bed. If he'd had more time to enjoy it, Harry was sure he could manage a ten, no, twelve-hour nap.)

He uncorked the bottle, slicking his fingers in neutral-smelling oil, and reached down to his gradually-stiffening prick. A few strokes had him pleasantly erect, but the position was a bit lacking, he thought.

So Harry turned over onto his stomach, propping himself up a bit with spare pillows, and applied more oil.

This way, he could press his nose into the pillows, and breathe deeply of Voldemort's faint scent. It was all too easy to imagine that the finger he was rubbing at his entrance belonged to someone else, when he closed his eyes. Harry shivered pleasantly at the way his finger was swiftly enveloped in tight heat. Working it back and forth, Harry soon added another, stretching himself with scissoring motions.

"Oh, yes," he sighed against the pillow, letting his mind fall deeper into the as-yet vague fantasy. "Voldemort..." Another finger, and he felt the graze against his prostate as though it went through his whole body. "O-oh. Nnh."

Splayed out on the bedsheets fingering himself, breathing in the heady bouquet that combined to form the Dark Lord's scent, leaking oil and clear fluid onto the bedsheets -- this was the picture Harry made, when the Dark Lord in question opened the door to his chambers and drew back the curtain at the foot of the bed.

Suddenly, there were hands grabbing his wrists and pinning them over his head, and the feeling of fabric brushing against his back. Harry didn't have to turn his head to know it was Voldemort. He gasped, first in surprise, and then at the press of something hard against his thoroughly-prepared opening.

The Dark Lord didn't say anything to him. A small pained noise escaped Harry as he simply pushed in, without regard for comfort, rocking in and out just enough to slick the way. The hands at Harry's wrists released him, moving instead to his waist with a bruising grip -- as the pace of the thrusts increased. They were just barely avoiding his prostate, and Harry thought he might manage to keep his composure--

A shift on the bed; the cock in him pulled all the way out, and then slammed in much harder, at just the right angle, and Harry muffled his groan in the pillow, canting his hips back to receive it again, and again, and again.

"...fuckfuckfuck," he muttered, his grip on the sheets white-knuckled. It was more than he'd dreamed, more than he'd thought he would ever get, rough and unforgiving and "yes, harder, ah-ah-aah, I, yes--"

One hand reached around to take Harry in hand, stroking him in counterpoint to the thrusts, and Harry groaned, moving the pillow to the side to take in more air. This meant he couldn't muffle his voice any longer, and it seemed Voldemort could tell: he began to grind against Harry's prostate, grip tightening, thumbing over the slit in the head of Harry's prick. "Please," he groaned, "I'm gonna..."

All the while the only sound to indicate Voldemort's presence had been steadily-quickening breathing. Harry moaned louder, unable to help himself, as the hand on him teased the sensitive spot under the head, and his balls tightened. "Voldemort," he gasped, "I'm going to--"

_ "Come, Harry,"  _ came the commanding hiss, and that was it. Harry let out a sound somewhere between a scream and a sob, spilling against the bedsheets, and felt himself clench down around the prick that filled him. Above him, the Dark Lord hissed wordlessly, and Harry could feel, through his orgasmic haze, the pulsing that meant he was coming inside him.

Voldemort didn't bother to pull out when he was done. Arms wrapped around Harry's middle, pulling him onto his side, and a leg was thrown over his while the Dark Lord's hands roamed the expanse of his skin. He found his eyes closing of their own volition, and wondered, with a dazed grin, if this was the end -- if he had been fucked to death.

_ Not a bad end, _ he thought, pushing back into the solid, clothed chest with a smile.

_ Good night, Voldemort. _

When he woke up, sticky and sore, he was alone.


End file.
